


Hidden Treasure

by Calleva



Series: Haesten/Saerlaith [1]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: F/M, Romance, Sex, Smut, Vikings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 20:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12465020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calleva/pseuds/Calleva
Summary: Coventry in the late 800s is a small hamlet where nothing much ever happens. Saerlaith, a bored young wife, suddenly finds herself confronting a fierce Viking raider. The attraction is instant, but she knows he is only there for one reason, and that is not likely to be pleasant.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mercian Wench](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Mercian+Wench).



Venus was broken.

Saerlaith looked out of the open window into the most distant garden and sighed deeply. Not much of a garden, really. The overgrown tangle was being slowly brought back to order by the old gardener, but there was nothing to be done about the statue in the centre. It had been there for a very long time. Saerlaith supposed the Romans had left it behind. She wasn't even sure it was Venus, there were so many old Celtic gods and the Romans had simply adopted and adapted them, not wanting to offend the local spirits. The statue was hollow, like the stand, and someone had used a long uneven stick to keep her on her perch so she always stood a bit sideways. She'd lost an arm and her left foot was missing its toes. Oh well, at least she was still standing.

Not much happened in the tiny burh of Coffe's Tree, and even less when Fearghal was away. He had some ealdorman's council in Gleawcester and with his army business he wouldn't be back for a while. Though he would expect some sort of feast on his return. He was so predictable. Set in his ways. Well, he was getting older. A fighting man past his prime but with impressive rewards, including herself.

Coffa's Tree. The burh was really little more than the old nunnery, several farms, and their own hall. This was partly an old Roman building with timbered additions and a thatched roof. Fearghal had originally come from Ireland and sworn fealty to Lord Aethelred of Mercia, who had rewarded him three years ago with this. Plus Saerlaith, whose real name he had promptly adapted to the Irish of his youth but with the same meaning: Princess. She wasn't a princess but an orphan and Aethelred had given her in marriage to this old fighter, he would provide for her and she would warm him.

Except that Fearghal didn't seem to want much warming, throwing himself into his duties as hlaford, local overlord. He organised the fyrd, raised taxes and administered a kind of justice. He was always busy. Saerlaith realised that this was not a means of shunning her bed, but avoiding the obvious fact that his capacities were unreliable. Evidenced by their childlessness 'as yet' - although she lived in hope. A child would give her more to do.

Saerlaith liked to walk in the grounds of their home. Most of it was given over to herbs and vegetables, with fruit bushes and hops which had themselves grown unruly and needed restraining. Nature was so abundant - why couldn't she and Fearghal be? She hadn't minded her husband being so much older, he didn't beat her even if he could speak harshly at times and had a crude turn of phrase, which she put down to his long years of being unmarried and a fighting man. At least he didn't drone on nostalgically about a former wife, which was a problem with older men. The trouble was he didn't seem very interested in home life, or herself. He had been a brawler in his youth and he preferred the active life, and the fight against the Danes occupied him constantly. So she would set about creating a pleasant home for herself, if no one else. 

She had never hankered for a grand residence and many servants, which was just as well because she didn't have them. Their hall was a patchwork with just a cook, a maid and her own personal maidservant. Too few for show, but less gossip and trouble.

Saerlaith wandered past the herb garden and through the little orchard. Beyond that was an ancient wall with a wooden gate set into the stone. Within was the old statue and the overgrown shrubs which must also have been very old. There was a stone bench and she sat on it. The gardener had left and she was quite alone. It was a warm day, the kind for dreaming and planning. Idly, Saerlaith wondered if her life was destined to be like this forever. Probably not, because if she survived her husband, which seemed likely, she would probably be given in marriage to someone else. Would she always live at Coffe's Tree? It wasn't at all a bad place but very little happened. This in itself was a good thing in a way because at least the chances of a visit from the Danish marauders was unlikely - there wasn't much to steal. On the other hand, she would enjoy some excitement.

It looked as if she'd get her wish when she saw the maidservant at the gate beckoning to her. She got up and went back into the hall, where a messenger was waiting. He was one of her husband's men, a young lad called Oswy. She had earlier sent a new tunic for Fearghal's birthday with the request that he relax the taxes on the local people. They had come to her explaining that times were hard enough having the Danes spoiling their homes and crops, without having to give extra to Aethelred's coffers. Saerlaith thought this reasonable. 

Oswy shifted and looked at his feet. "My lord sends greeting and reply," he muttered, bowing. "First he says that Danes have been seen close to Coffe's Tree and you are to hide all valuables from sight. Secondly, um...."  
"Yes?"  
"My lord suggests that he will relax the taxes if you ride naked through the streets of Coffe's Tree on a white horse. Lady, he is being strongly urged to provide our share to pay for the army we will need."  
Even for her husband this sounded sharp. Was it really necessary to say 'no' quite as bluntly? Perhaps her husband didn't want her taking an interest in matters not of women's concern? Even so...  
"I believe these were Lord Aethelred's words." Supplied Oswy, reddening. Saerlaith assumed this must be so, but her husband should not have repeated them. Perhaps he had been drunk. "I do not blame you. You may go now, there is food and drink in the cookhouse larder, please help yourself, and thank you." she spoke with a kind voice; the poor boy was not to blame.

At least she lived in no great comfort herself, and as soon as possible, she and her maid Gytha would bring all the food they didn't need at the hall to the poorest. But what of the Danes? High taxes and bad harvests would be of no importance if the Northman arrived and carried them all off as slaves. They had a small group of household guards which Fearghal had left behind for her protection. If the Danes attacked, the outlying farms would crowd into the burh, behind the palisade, for safety. Many of the workers would have pitchforks and billhooks, good enough weapons, but farm workers weren't hardened fighters and wore no armour.

Meanwhile Saerlaith gathered a linen bag and went around, opening cupboards and chests, collecting the few objects of silver and all her jewellery. She instructed Gytha and Eadyth that everything of value was to go into the bag which was to be hidden from the Danes, should they enter the burh.


	2. Chapter 2

"DANES!"

The cry went up throughout the region and people started to flee towards Coffe's Tree. Saerlaith gave instruction that if there was nothing to be done, the people should flee. She had her own group of guards and that would have to do. No farm worker must die protecting her, it would be useless anyway to prevent her being taken.

 

She was in the walled garden when she first saw him.

He was standing alone, facing her at the entrance to the garden. Saerlaith's first reaction was fear, but realising that escape was impossible, she took a deep breath, rose from the stone seat and moved a few steps towards him.

She hadn't seen a Northman this close up before. He was stocky and of average build, his armour was of thick overlapping leather pieces, secured at both sides by straps and buckles. There were two swords at his belt. She breathed out and looked into his face. Blond locks, worn carelessly, braids and long thin twisted locks. Real men don't brush their hair.

Blue eyes, deep, intense..... with a hint of grey. Rimmed with a sort of dark soot, which only made the blueness more striking.

And at once she forgot her fears. Whatever reason was telling her, instinct was calling to her in a different way. Those eyes, so wild.... so wonderful. Had she ever seen a face like this? She realised she was shaking, but no longer from fear. Whatever he was planning for her, she wasn't afraid.  
"Welcome, Lord, to Coffe's Tree," she blurted out, surprised at the coolness of her voice. He gave a slow smile. And hesitated. Did he feel it too?  
"Gracious lady, I thank you," he replied with an ironic twitch at the corners of his mouth. His English was good, but spoken with a Scandinavian accent. At the sound of his voice, Saerlaith found her insides turning to water. No! this could not be happening! Why wasn't she afraid? This made no sense. Any moment now she was going to be tied roughly and forced to walk miles without water or food. After being raped on the back of a cart by twenty Vikings, who may or may not have diseases.  
She moved a little closer to him, unable to discern his mood.  
"This is the oldest part of our home, I like to come here and think. I call it the Lady Garden." with a flash of inspiration, she added, "People nowadays have Mary Gardens for our Lady, but this is far older, and as you see the statue is of Venus..."  
"The goddess of Love.." he supplied, "How charming." He appeared to study the little broken statue on its wobbly base. "It needs centering," he decided, and strode over to it. Saerlaith noticed the axe hanging from the back of his belt. At least it looked clean, no blood. A couple of twists and he had figured out the hollow middle and the silly wooden pole. "That is better," he pronounced, walking back to where she stood. They looked at it in silence as the broken Venus slowly ground its way back to its earlier position. He shrugged, though she could feel his annoyance, "Well, what can you do? You should replace it with a new one."  
"You don't think that would offend the older gods? I'd never find another one. Besides, I've always liked it. There's a sense of deep antiquity about this place."  
He shrugged, as if nothing much worried him. Saerlaith cast a swift, furtive glance at him, his stocky build was actually muscle, wasn't it? What did he have to fear? He was powerful and dripping with weapons. Let the old gods do their worst.  
"My name is Saerlaith, by the way."  
"Unusual name,"  
"My husband changed it, it means Princess, either way."  
He gave a small bow, "Haesten. It means horse."

She couldn't tell if he was mocking her. He smiled his lazy, confident smile, "Now perhaps you might tell me where the silver is stored. Let's make this civilised, eh? Wouldn't want to offend the old gods, would we?"  
"I'm afraid we don't have any valuables. My husband sold them all to pay for the new roof."  
"Is that so?"  
"Yes it is so," Slowly Saerlaith touched the garnet cross hanging from her neck and made to remove it. Bait, already planned. To her surprise, he reached out and placed a hand over hers to still it.  
"It looks better where it is," he muttered, then briefly looked at it "but they should be rubies instead".  
She looked up at him and found his eyes again. Admiration, desire..... he felt it too, didn't he?

And suddenly she was in his arms and he was kissing her. His mouth was warm and soft among the rough hair of his beard. His strong arms encircled her and drew her against him. She was surprised how safe and secure she felt.

How much had they actually said to each other, in words? Almost nothing. It had been a different language all along. Only the other day she had been wondering if her life was to stretch endlessly in a dull routine of domestic cares. And now she was in the arms of a man who had only just told her his name. And she didn't care about anything else, about her duties, about Fearghal, about common sense which should have been screaming at her to get as far from him as possible. Instead there she was with her arms around him, raking his hair with her fingers and testing the skin of his neck.  
"You smell so good," he murmured, burying his face into her dark hair. She remembered that earlier that day she had been making lavender water. It was still steeping and she should be bottling it up. It could wait. The whole world could wait.

Desire leapt in her like a wild salmon. She never felt this way with Fearghal, the need that she felt towards this man, Haesten. She wanted him to unpeel her from her suddenly too-heavy clothing, and to hold her naked body here, in this place dedicated to the goddess of love. He seemed to have the same idea and suddenly they were lying together on the fresh grass. Divested of his armour and heavy tunic, he pulled her dress and underdress over her head with one movement, and there they were. Like the first man and the first woman in the garden of paradise.

His intense eyes surveyed her body slowly, "You are beautiful" he said at length, bending down to kiss her skin. His mouth found her nipple and teased it with his tongue. His fingers caressed the other one, while she gasped with surprise and pleasure. Lovemaking had never been like this! In response, she tested his back and shoulders, the muscles and smooth skin. Her fingers brushed against a scar and ran along its length. He felt firm and warm - she had never touched any man but Fearghal before, and his skin was much less taut; slack with age, she supposed, which was hardly his fault. But even so....

What was she supposed to do, in this place dedicated to love, with the firm muscled body of a young Viking spread out for her delight? Now was not the time to think of what would happen when he had finished with her... For now she was wrapped in this strange, savage passion and longing for its fulfilment. She rolled him over and began to kiss along his chest. He was so manly, with the right amount of hair, and a scattering of scars, pale and healed and a tribute to his strength as a warrior. She looked up at him briefly, his eyes were closed and his face totally relaxed. Gone was the arrogance - if anyone was enslaving, it was she. Her hands roamed and mapped every inch of his torso, while her lips and hair brushed his skin, causing tiny goosebumps in their wake. Suddenly his arms were around her and he pulled her up to kiss her again. Gently at first, then deeper and more demanding.

And then she was lying under him again and his mouth was still on hers. He was clearly extremely strong, but he wasn't using this against her; instead their bodies seemed to be working together. In times gone by, did people do pagan rituals in this place? did they dance under the full moon? Did they make love like this...?

Knowing he wanted her made her desire him more. His touch drew a line of fire along her skin, and she moved sinuously like a cat beneath his weight. It was almost unbearable, this need. She wanted him inside her, filling her completely. 

Tentatively she reached down and felt for his manhood, already firm and ready for her, like a drawn sword. She gasped and muttered, "You're too big for me......." She looked into his eyes again and saw the pride in them. He had liked that, "No worry, _min kaerest_ , I not hurt you..." and he was true to his word. He moved his hand down to where she was opening to him. He gentled her, feeling for the most sensitive area and caressing it, "your hair is like silk," he whispered, testing her with a finger; she was moist and entirely ready. He gazed deep into her brown eyes as he entered her slowly. Why had she ever worried? She was joined to this half-wild man and he was making her feel more alive than she ever had before. And suddenly she no longer cared about Haesten hurting her. "Take me!" she gasped as he began to move rhythmically against her. "Harder!" she encouraged, moving against him in response. Her enthusiasm surprised him but he obeyed her like the gentleman he wasn't. 

Her eyes opened briefly and she saw the blue sky above, with a few stray clouds like tufts of lambswool; the tall trees arched up like green broomsticks, ready to brush the clouds away like fluff.... the strangeness of it began to swirl around her as she was swept up in a vortex of desire, almost like pain. Waves of pure delight crashed over her again and again and she cried out, the earth calling out to the sky. In response he gave a bellow of release and they surrendered to each other.

"That was nice, thank you," she muttered, after a while. She was lying with her head cradled against his shoulder, her hair dark against his pale skin. he gave a little laugh, "Thank you too, Lady. And perhaps we should thank Venus herself."  
"We should."

After another long pause he finally said "I should like to see your house, Lady. I am told it is the nicest one in the burh."  
She had the idea that he was all Viking again, looking for treasure. She would take him round the hall while Gytha secreted the linen bag in a safe place.

Nevertheless, it gave her a sense of pride to be showing him her home. She had worked hard to make it as lovely as possible, with Fearghal letting her spend silver on decorations to cover the old stone walls of the Roman part. The hall had a large central space where people ate at long tables. Around the walls were hangings and also banners with simple designs. These were like those taken into battle. There was Fearghal's castle, a simple turret design, black against green. In the centre of the ceiling was the great iron chandelier, suspended from a rope attached to a pulley. This had been her own idea, and she showed her visitor with pride.  
"I should come to eat with you." He muttered.  
"You should. The wild boar is plentiful around here, as we are so forested. It's very good to eat." She caught sight of Gytha disappearing outside, and noted a flash of undyed linen. Saerlaith kept her guest distracted with a steady stream of words. "Here is a fine chest which we bought in Lundene, It holds linens." she burbled, as he opened it and flicked through the contents, pretending to be interested, but really rooting for gold and silver. It was ridiculous, this game they were playing.

They went to the cookhouse, where he took a honey cake from a tray in the cool room, and ate it with relish. "I will make you up a simple platter," she told him, "you need more than honey and flour after your pagan rituals." She gave him a wink and he laughed. 

What was it about this woman, he wondered? He had been minded to enjoy her when he first saw her, seated in that garden. She had looked so pretty in her simple but elegant gown. He liked the way her eyes met his so directly. She hadn't been afraid of him, there had been no pleading, no tears, no anguish. She had simply faced him. She was like a shield maiden, he thought, one of Odin's daughters, a Valkyrie, and she had taken him briefly to a sort of death, hadn't she?

He had thought he preferred red hair but this dark beauty took his breath away. He had ploughed her with every skill he possessed, to please and satisfy her. Just taking her had not been enough for him this time. And now he was looking for her treasure, which made him feel faintly guilty, for some reason. And she was quite aware what he was doing but coolly going along with the pretence. He had learned that it all came from the husband so it could be replaced without tears.

He wouldn't take anything that belonged just to her. She herself was the treasure in any case.


	3. Chapter 3

He was hungry enough to finish the platter she had made him in less time than it took for Saerlaith to espy Gytha outside, noticeably foraging among the herbs, looking for some to flavour the stew that cook was planning.

"So where is Coffa's Tree?"  
"No one is exactly sure. It's an old legend really. There's a very old tree in the convent yard. But to be honest, there are a lot of trees in this area." 

She thought he really did have the most wonderful eyes, so much so that in contemplating them she had forgotten the fate of the rest of the burh. "Haesten?" she said suddenly. He looked up from his cup, "If you bear me any good will at all, I would ask of you one thing..."  
He looked away, pretending to be uninterested. He must think I'm going to ask him to leave any treasure, she thought. Instead she surprised him by not referring to valuables, "Could you ask your men to be easy on the people here? They really have very little, and it would mean a lot to me if you would just leave with whatever silver you find."  
He scratched his head and thought. "I'll see. But right now they won't listen to me."  
"No," she agreed in a little voice, wondering about the nunnery.  
"That was delicious, Lady. Now can we see the rest of your hall?"  
She led the way.

He was already rummaging in the old oak chest at the foot of the ladder which led up to the galleried top floor. "What's this?" he held up a bundle of rags, tied into a tight ball. She took it from him and tossed it in the air a couple of times, then threw it to him to catch. "It's a fotballe, meant to be kicked around." She said, laughing. "Local people have formed a team which plays with one of these. They compete against other burhs. We're really very good. Beat Sheaffeld Wodensdaeʒ last week."  
"Sounds rather a silly game. I don't expect it will last."  
"An earlier version used a severed human head. I think this is perhaps an improvement."  
He gave a smirk, "I don't know....." and he laughed at a private thought.  
"I hope that doesn't bode ill for us."  
"Would I let that happen to you?" He put out a hand and laid it on her arm. "The old Roman gods would come and smite me."  
"I should hope so too," she gave him an arch look. Now Gytha was around, it was safe to go out again. "Here" she announced, "is my little outhouse where I prepare herbs and salves," It would give her an opportunity to check on her lavender water. 

She noted with satisfaction that the water had taken up the scent well, the flowers must have been at a perfect ripeness. She reached for the little sieve and began skimming off the flowers. She would bottle up the water later. "Hey!" she was suddenly aware of a pair of strong arms reaching around her, enclosing her in a bear hug. She looked down at his hands which locked together. He kissed the back of her neck and nibbled gently on her ear. "You smell even better than your herbs," He rumbled. His breath on her skin made her long for him again. Surely not so soon?  
"Mmn, surprisingly, so do you..."  
"We Vikings like to keep clean. Just as well I bathed this morning, isn't it?" he chuckled. His hands moved upwards and gently cupped her breasts. She knew she should object, but found herself leaning back into him, closing her eyes and resting the back of her head on his shoulder. He had left his armour in the hall and without it she could feel his need beginning to press against her. Surely not in here? It was such a small space...

His hands unlocked and she found herself being gripped on both hips. Deftly, he had bent her forward, over the counter, and had lifted her skirt, easing her onto his manhood. Then he pulled out and plunged in again. She was surprised at how easily he could slide in, and how he seemed to know exactly where his fingers should touch her, low, low down; stroking and teasing her until she pushed hard against him and gritted her teeth as she came, hoping no one would hear them.

Afterwards, he disengaged and it was as if nothing had happened. He asked her for a salve for saddlesore skin, and if she had a spare bottle of rosewater. "Certainly. What's the water for?"  
"My wife," he said disarmingly, "she often complains I neglect her."  
"That has not been my experience," retorted Saerlaith with a dry laugh.  
" _Min lille heks_ , if you were mine, I would bring you all the treasures of the earth and count it as nothing."  
"I think if I were yours I would not let you out of my sight.... You'd get into too much trouble." She tweaked his nose. Really, did he think she was that gullible? All the treasures of the earth, indeed! It occurred to her that all this crazy coupling might result in one treasure that her husband had signally failed to give her. That would be enough for her.  
"Satisfied that there's no hidden gold in here?" she teased as they left the outhouse.  
"Well there was.." he winked, "But you've just left."  
"Huh!"  
"Would I lie to you?"

It was time to see upstairs. He could be busy for some times checking the chests and cupboards. "Quite the dandy," she muttered ironically as her guest glanced through Fearghal's clothes, folded neatly in a deep chest. His fingers deftly unhooked a forgotten brooch. He could have it, thought Saerlaith. She didn't care, it was only stuff. People were what mattered most. "A remembrance," she suggested, "take it." He shot her a quick feral smile, but seeing her eyes, his own eyes lit up with an unexpected warmth. He was a merciless sea-wolf, but not today. Today he was just a sea-wolf, and she was Hati, the wolf daughter of Loki. He found himself wanting her again.

"Here is our chamber," she said, sweeping into the largest bedchamber. He noted the 'our', said with little attention. He knew that the ealdorman of this area was an old man with a young wife. Clearly, the old boy had some interest in her - but if she had been his wife, Haesten thought, he'd not have left her alone with so small a band of men. He'd never left Bruna so ill supplied, and he had no great love for his wife. Haesten had the sudden thought that if this woman in front of him were his, he would not want to leave her at all. She'd probably be quite fearsome with sword and shield. Saxon women could be quite surprising sometimes. This Mercian wench was most surprising, and intriguing, of all.

The large chamber had a lovely view onto the grounds below. He could see the garden of Venus beyond, with its old stone wall and woody shrubs. He'd have put a fish pond in there, for variety of food. His eyes were drawn back to the statue, there was something different, he noticed. It was standing squarely in the centre of the stand. He was sure it hadn't been like that, even after he'd tried to move it. He thought for a moment and gave a slow smile. 

This time it was his turn to be surprised. Her arms snaked round him and she pressed against him, glad his sword belt had been left with his armour. He'd tucked a knife into his waistband and trusted to his men that there would be little chance of trouble here. She squeezed him affectionately and gently blew on his neck.  
" _Min lille heks_ " he muttered, "my little witch, you have enchanted me."  
"Blame Venus, I am no witch," she ran her tongue along the edge of his ear.  
He turned to face her, taking her wrists in his strong hands, "Where I come from, that is a complement, _kaereste_ , with your beauty you overcome me, and your way with herbs tells me you are no ordinary housewife...." he put his lips to her pale wrist and kissed along it as far as he could reach under the sleeve.

Wordlessly, she led him to the big bed, and again removed her robe. She lay on the wolf fleeces which covered the bed, white flesh against gray fur.  
"I like the paleness of your skin," he crooned, pulling off his tunic and trews. She watched him, marvelling in his powerful body. She had never seen a naked man like this before. He was showing her what it was to be a woman, she thought, and it was exciting. Something in the back of her mind warned her that her marital bed was reserved for only one man, and that wasn't Haesten.... But he was here and it was now, and he was warm and his arms promised bliss.

And she was angry at her husband anyway, who seemed to regard her as so much property. Greedily, she reached out for her Northman and pulled him onto the bed. An idea came to her. She hadn't known much about the ways of men and women together, but once she had come upon two people who had sneaked into the barn. The woman was riding the man and they seemed to be enjoying it. Saerlaith had left quickly, embarrassed, but the thought had remained with her. Fearghal had never asked her to do anything like that and she hadn't liked to offer. She rolled Haesten onto his front and straddled his lower back, running her hands over the upper part. It was broad, and there were some scars, as if he'd been in the middle of a great fight. What must it be to have such strength and courage, she wondered?

Running both hands up to his shoulders, she extended her arms and lowered her face to kiss down his spine, and on to the marvellous buttocks. He was so firm, so wondrous, and all laid out for her pleasure; she nipped him gently, feeling his skin resisting her teeth. Slowly, she turned him over, taking his shaft into her hand and caressing it. "No, firmer," he moaned. She was aware that she really didn't know what she should be doing. Her husband usually took care of this kind of thing... Instinctively she bent over him and replaced her hand with her tongue, running up and down his considerable length. She tried a gentle suck, and sat back to admire his full glory. Carefully she lowered herself onto him, leaning forward to ease him into her, he had girth as well as length and she wanted all of it. With greater control she could make him last as long as she needed to reach her own peak, and it came in waves of pure delight. With a sense of almost vicious pleasure, she thought that she had fulfilled her husband's despicable requirement; she had ridden a pale 'horse' naked here in Coffe's Tree, right in his own bed.


	4. Chapter 4

Later, much later, after the Northmen had gone and the people were clearing up, she went back to the garden.

He had left her with so many strange memories and they all began in the Lady Garden, the place of mystery and forgotten ritual. The sun was beginning to set and the light was golden. One of her favourite times of day.

She knew he would not be back so it was safe now. Carefully she lifted the damaged statue from its unsteady plinth but had a feeling she knew what she would find.

Nothing.  
She hadn't deceived him, after all.   
She could almost see his wolfish smile.

She replaced Venus and gave her a reluctant grin. "Not much use were you, after all?" she scolded. As she left the garden she had a feeling that Venus was laughing gently in reply. Life was to be savoured, enjoyed, and one should let go of the things that held one back. 

Despite his arrogance and shamelessness, no, because of it, she found herself wishing Haesten had not gone. He had stayed two days; they had humped and feasted, and feasted and humped. Yet it was more than lust and hunger; at one point she had suddenly looked up at him and found his eyes gazing at her with wonderment, a mixture of admiration and desire - was it his way of loving? She wasn't sure but the language of his body had told her she was more than an object for his use. He had cared about her enough to bring her pleasure, to learn the best ways of doing this, ways she hadn't even known herself.

She sat on the stone bench and wondered if she would ever see him again. 

Fearghal returned and there was the expected feast. By then the raid on the burh was little more than a memory for most people. There had been a few rapes, but no one had been taken away. This was a surprise and no one could understand it. Only Saerlaith knew the reason. 

As her belly grew, she wondered if any of her servants would start to mutter but was reassured when Fearghal behaved with surprise and pleasure at her news. Perhaps the visit of this strange and uninvited guest would bring joy to more than just herself. 

And then one morning, when the dew was on the grass and the air was fresher, when the last of the late pears had dropped, she visited the Venus garden again. Sitting on the stone bench Saerlaith pondered the rite she had performed there with Haesten, her man-horse. The garden had seemed alive then, as if awoken from a deep slumber. Now it was preparing for winter but there were still signs of life. An ancient rosebush, pruned in the spring, had flowered again. The few last blooms refused to accept the changing season. Berries were forming on some of the shrubs, and there in the grass around the statue was a seedling tree. The gardener must have missed it. Carefully she uprooted it, planning to replant it in a corner, by the wall, where it could grow. "We walked in the garden, we planted a tree." she mused to herself.

Then she saw it. Venus seemed strangely different, as if she'd dressed for the cold. She appeared to be wearing something and it glinted at her. Carefully Saerlaith lifted the delicate chain from the broken statue and held the object in her hand. A large single ruby set with diamonds. It was surely worth more than everything in the little bag that Gytha had stowed away.

He had returned, after all.


End file.
